The Love Dictionary
by likesunshinetome
Summary: All those feelings you have but can't quite put into words - Rose and Dimitri feel them too / An A-Z dictionary inspired string of oneshots, based on words mostly from 'The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows'
1. ambedo

_ambedo (n.) - a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life_

...

"Rose," He claimed he had been addressing me for the past minute, but I hadn't heard him at all, "Are you alright?"

I didn't answer him, because I didn't know. I was half convinced the room was closing in on me, or maybe burning to the ground, or maybe the room didn't exist at all. With all that, the room just wasn't my concern at that moment.

It was the teapot. That old, stupid teapot. A rarity, it was one of the few objects Dimitri had contributed to the mishmosh of necessities for our new apartment. Made of glass, I could tell Dimitri had filled it past the max line as the water boiled over and over itself, nearing the top of the pot. And the thing was old - adorned with several calcium stains from the tap water that constantly filled it. It was clearly loved for a long time, noting the dents in the metal handle and top. I thought the heat from it was setting my skin on fire, and I couldn't help but hold a palm up to my face to make sure I was kept intact. Maybe that's why it was making that awful, awful noise. The thing was shrieking, this high-pitched, bloody-hell type of wailing. Screaming, screaming, screaming, and I -

I jumped up across the kitchen when Dimitri put a hand on my shoulder. We were locked in a standstill, as I recovered and tried to breath evenly again, and he tried to gauge what the hell was going on with me. I was wilting under the scrutiny of his eyes, him staring at me like I had been staring at that teapot. I lashed out, yelling, just as the teapot had.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" The words were weaker and more breathless than I had intended, but he must have seen the rage in my eyes. "Jesus Christ, warn me next time." He simply rose an eyebrow at my outburst, and turned to turn off the flame of the burner. When the teapot stopped screaming, my temper faded, fractionally.

"I did," the calming nature of his voice offset the tone I had used. "It seemed clear you couldn't hear me. I needed to bring you back here." I nearly laughed at the notion of me being far away. I had been, somehow, far from him and the house and everything in it, except that teapot. It was an almost trance-like captivation. That teapot was the only thing I could hear, see, even feel. Even though he thought I was far away, I was right there. I couldn't wrap my head around any of it, and suddenly I was feeling that same awful feeling I got staring at the thing, and I couldn't handle the pressure, and something within me fissured, so I was cracked open for Dimitri to see completely.

"Will you hold me?" My voice sounded foreign and fragile, even to myself. It was something the two of us were working on together - expressing what we needed. It didn't come naturally to either of us, we weren't used to depending on people or getting support from others. And while I expected him to brush me off or ignore the request, his arms were around me before I could even finish my question.

I sank into him, and took all of the tiny details of him in. Maybe I couldn't get my mind off that goddamn teapot, but he gave me something new to focus on. A soft murmur of russian, instead of that headache-inducing howl. Or the color of his shirt darkening as my tears fell onto it, instead of that water boiling over. Even the heat of his skin on my own, instead of the burning flame.

My crying reduced to hiccups, and he pulled away from me to take a better look at me. It was the same sort of scrutinizing stare from before, but I didn't flinch away from it this time. Something about that damn teapot, God, it made me realize life is just to short to be flinching away from him, or pretending I don't need him when he's the only thing I want. His hand stayed firm on my shoulder as he spoke.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"


	2. basorexia

_basorexia (n.) - the sudden desire and overwhelming urge to kiss someone_

…

"What were you thinking?" His tone wasn't accusatory, but God, I wish it was.

If he was angry, I could be angry. I could chanel all the rage I had, at strigoi, at the dhampir deaths that didn't need to happen tonight but still did, at the whole world, and I could put my anger into fighting with him. Instead his tone was soft and his hands gentle as he pulled pieces of glass and gravel out of my knee, from where I sat on the bathroom sink. I couldn't compete with his kindness. I cracked under it, so much to expose exactly who I was and how I felt.

Dimitri lifted his concentration from my wound up to my eyes. I saw a few things flash through his eyes: confusion, empathy, love. His gaze locked mine, and he waited for my answer. God, I can't think like that. I feel lost in his eyes, like I'm walking down some hotel hallway with the same repeating pattern on the carpet for miles and miles. I squeeze my eyes shut just to focus enough to respond, but his lingering effects muddle my words.

"I - I was thinking," I paused to gather myself. I didn't even know my answer. "I was thinking I could help. And that I couldn't let him just die without a fight." Dimitri nodded, and went back to his work on my knee.

It had been a boy, my age, more novice than guardian. We had been doing an area sweep, and things went south when we accidentally stumbled into a nest of strigoi. There were four of us and five of them, so considering the natural skill and strength of the strigoi, we were pitifully outnumbered. I hadn't realized all the broken glass on the floor. I hadn't even realized my uniform had already been torn around the knees. I only knew that there were only two of them left and still four of us, but soon to be three, if I didn't step in. I went to save this boy liked it had been a task engraved in my mind, and in a way, it sort of was. I lunged at the strigoi feeding off his neck, but the strigoi sparring with the other dhampir took the opportunity to slam me, face first, into the ground. Lucky for me, Dimitri staked the that strigoi before it had a chance to do real damage to me, other than my knees and cheek taking the brunt of the hit. Unfortunately for the boy, he was drained and killed before we had time to react.

"Does this hurt too much?" I winced at a particularly embedded piece of glass came out of my skin, but shook my head in response.

"You know," I tried to form my words, and express how I was feeling, but the words weren't coming. My voice sounded fragmented and my expressions like nonsense, but I trusted him to somehow make sense of it all. "You know how moroi will always ask you questions about battle? What it's like, all about facing strigoi, almost like they want to be there, but you know they really don't? They insist how much it must hurt, being wounded in battle, and I never bother to explain to them that it doesn't. I think I should tell someone. How, like, in the battle, it's all adrenaline. I didn't feel any pain during the fall. I didn't feel any pain when that boy died. But now? I'm sore. My knee hurts like a bitch. And I'm so _fucking_ angry that the boy died and I - I don't know how to - I don't know how I feel, I can't -"

My palm instinctually went to my eyes to cover my crying. I was a wreck, hiccups and all. I was having trouble calming myself and containing my sobs. I expected him to comfort me, but I wasn't sure if Dimitri had even listened, because he never stopped his hands at my knee. I noted his work: washcloth with antiseptic, tweezers pulling out a piece, dropping the piece in the bin, washcloth, tweezers, bin, and on and on. I watched a few cycles before finding the courage to speak up.

"What are you doing?" I croaked out, my voice scratchy from crying, as sure as my face was blotchy from tears. He look up at me, then back at his work.

"You're right," he agreed, but never stopped his cycle. "You feel it now. You are feeling it, right now. So we're gonna get through this knee right now, and your cheek, and that boy. It's going to hurt so much right now, then less and less with each passing day, until it fades into a scar. But for now, you'll feel it overwhelmingly."

"I understand my knee. I understand my face. I _get_ all of that, but, this boy, I don't even know. I don't know where to start. I don't know why I'm so damn upset." Dimitri nodded, the picture of composure, the balance to my absolute messiness.

"Well, did you know his name?" I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. What was Dimitri's point with this?

"No, I've never spoken to that boy before in my life." Dimitri nodded, again. His clinical calmness was meant to sate me, and as much as I hated it, it was working.

"He told me earlier in the day." Dimitri paused, remembering. "His name was Nikolai. His friends call him Nick."

A jolt of emotion ran through me like a current in water. Despite my constant skepticism, really, Dimitri knows me better than I know myself. He's always right there when I need him, and, amazingly, he gives me strength to get through it. He inspires me to be better. We love each other completely, and while love seems usually like a random, lucky connection, for a minute I can make sense of it all.

And while Dimitri's words should have made me feel sadness for Nick, it filled me with completely different emotions. Gratuity that I have the privilege of standing here and being with Dimitri. Strength to continue fighting. Love for the life I get to have, the luck I have for -

 _God, I want to kiss Dimitri_. The thought cut off everything else, and had ridiculously poor timing, and was probably stupid for so many reasons. Still, I could feel it in my bones. The thought itched on my skin, and wrapped onto me threateningly tight, like wet heat in midsummer. The thought took over everything else, emptied out my head so it could multiple and it was all that was left in my body, vacant of bones and organs and blood, just the thought of kissing him left.

So I did. My leap off of the sink was graceless, and my face collided with his in a majorly unromantic way. But he caught me, and he kissed back, and the world around me vanished. It was only him. How well he understands me scares me, and it should. It's complete vulnerability and trust. Instead of that fear pushing me away, though, it pushed me even further into him. It pushed his mouth right into mine. I could feel us ft together.

"What the hell is this for?" He asked, breathless, in a break of our lips, on the bathmat where we had ended up. I didn't bother responding, just continued kissing him like the world might end if I stopped, because according to this feeling deep in my gut, it would. _For the gift of your love_ was my only possible answer, and he doesn't need it, anyways.

Just like always, he understood me without explanation, reason, or rhyme.


End file.
